


Phantom Pain

by Bazylia_de_Grean



Series: Pilgrim's Crown [8]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 18:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16838104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/pseuds/Bazylia_de_Grean
Summary: Deòiridh is not certain Thaos would want her sympathy – probably not – she is not certain he regrets what he did. But... He should not be alone. Maybe he does not wish for her presence – he has not called her, after all – but she is his lover – companion? – and feels it is her duty to offer him comfort.She knows very few would look at it all like this, that maybe it is naive, that there is blood on his hands no amount of water will ever wash away... But she can touch souls, and she is certain of one thing. However ruthless Thaos might be, he is not evil.





	Phantom Pain

**Author's Note:**

> (prompt 14: sick day)

There are only a few candles burning in the small chapel, and Deòiridh feels darkness settling over her shoulders like a physical weight – like the burden of guilt she is carrying. In Breith Eaman, Iovara is being sentenced to... not death, Thaos said; death is a way out, not a punishment. Facing the consequences of one’s own choices is far worse, she knows that all too well. That is why she is kneeling here, before Eothas’ statue, desperately wishing to pray but unable to find words, overwhelmed by remorse.

But what else could she have done? If not her, Thaos would have found someone else... And yet it was her that did not refuse. All Iovara suffered in the Inquisition cell was because of her. But what choice had she had? To turn away from the gods?

Deep down, she knows it is not the full truth. That she did it for her soul and for the gods and for her missionary oath, but also for the love of a man. That if not for Thaos, she would not have agreed.

The anguish she is feeling now is her punishment for forgetting; for all the times she was falling asleep beside him, thinking of nothing but how happy she felt with his arms around her. Now Deòiridh can think of nothing else but the price Iovara had to pay for that; the price she herself had to pay, that she is paying still.

She was not been there when Thaos was... questioning Iovara – a wise decision, on his part, probably. But she heard people talk, witnessed Thaos pronouncing Iovara’s sentence, and thus she knows. The very thought sickens her, and each breath is suffocating whenever memory tries to show her the image of Iovara’s face. Her stomach feels heavy, her soul ever more so, and she wishes to pray so very much but her tongue is numb and she cannot find words... 

There are no air currents in the chamber, but the candle flames flicker. Deòiridh looks up at Eothas’ benevolent face... and suddenly she recalls the moment she first saw Iovara, a young, enthusiastic priestess at Thaos’ side, walking across the land, eager to tell the kith about the gods; recalls the easy kinship and understanding between the two missionaries. Iovara used to be Thaos’ apprentice, his hope for the future; the closest thing to a family he had. And yet he did all those terrible things, because he deemed countless souls of the faithful more important than Iovara’s life.

Compassion pushes the guilt into the corner of her mind. Deòiridh is not certain Thaos would want her sympathy – probably not – she is not certain he regrets what he did. But... She has always been more forgiving for others than for herself, more understanding, and...

Deòiridh gets up. He should not be alone. Maybe he does not wish for her presence – he has not called her, after all – but she is his lover – companion? – and feels it is her duty to offer him comfort.

She knows very few would look at it all like this, that maybe it is naive, that there is blood on his hands no amount of water will ever wash away... But she can touch souls, and she is certain of one thing. However ruthless Thaos might be, he is not evil.

* * *

She finds him in his chambers; he is still clad in his ceremonial robes – the very set Iovara had once made for him. Deòiridh shudders at the sight, and wonders whether he chose those robes to mock his former apprentice, or just as a reminder – and if the latter, then for which one of them?

Thaos turns, acknowledging her with a glance. Without the headdress, his hair is falling into his eyes, casting eerie shadows across his face.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is calm, a little colder and more impatient than usual, but without reproach.

Still, she does not dare come closer; not until he invites her. Not because she is afraid of him, just because she senses he wants to be alone. And yet he does not sent her away.

“Do you wish me to leave?” she asks softly. Too far to reach him with her hands, she gently touches him with a thought; there are no words in it, just warmth, like air near a fireplace.

“You can stay,” he says with a tired sigh. A corner or his lips crooks up momentarily. “Are you going to make a habit of this?” he asks, nodding at her to come closer. “Because if yes, maybe I should stop calling you altogether, and you would still be here every night.”

“You’ve never told me to go away,” she points out quietly.

“I have also never told you that you’re not right when you do it.” He raises his hand and curls his fingers around her braid, as if testing its weight in his palm. But he does not slip the ribbon off it to let her hair fall loose. “You’re more perceptive than you give yourself credit for, my little soulmistress.”

She does not reply and just helps him disrobe. There is no sign of dinner on the table, so she gets some food brought while Thaos is taking a bath. Food and wine. He probably will not eat much, if at all, but he can use some wine.

Deòiridh waits, but eventually, she goes to check on him. Thaos is still in the water, leaning against the side of the stone tub, eyes closed.

“I’m not asleep,” he says when she comes closer.

“I know.” She would sense it in his mind if he was; it is not unlike breaths or waves, different tides in sleep and in waking.

Deòiridh holds the hem of her robe up and kneels on the tiles, putting her hands on Thaos’ shoulders. When she digs her fingers into the stiff muscles, he lets out a hiss of pain. He might seem calm – just exhausted – but she has never seen him so tense. But eventually – when the water is already getting cold – he relaxes a little, and lets his head fall back.

She watches the line of his neck, the slight flutter of his eyelashes, then gently brushes a strand of damp hair off his temple. “You must eat.” It will not help with that weariness she senses in his mind and soul, one she has noticed before, but could never fully see, not like now; weariness that goes beyond Iovara and the Inquisition, that goes lives back. She wonders how many lives it has been, how long has he been walking across Eora, doing the gods’ will, and how many memories a soul can take until they become too heavy to carry. Because this evening, his shoulders felt as if he had been carrying the weight of the world. Maybe he does? She can sense there is something wrong with his soul, as it if has bent and twisted under his burden, but she cannot be certain, because he has never allowed her to her see it – or his mind – fully; nothing but glimpses.

Thaos opens his eyes, shaking his head. “You fret too much, my little soulmistress.” He looks at her over his shoulder. “I’m not ill. Just tired.” He takes the linen sheet she hands him, throws it across his shoulders and gets up. “We all are. It’s been a long few months.”

He should be ill, Deòiridh thinks. He should be sick and he should be broken and he should be in pain. Instead, he is just a little colder and more distant, as he often gets when he is weary or busy or has a lot on his mind.

Thaos gathers his robe around him and ties it with a sash, then glances at her, lifting an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she replies hastily. “Nothing that can’t wait,” she immediately corrects; he would know if she lied.

He is like stone or dead adra this night, opaque, his mental barriers obscuring everything, and she does not know him well enough to read his real mood when he is like this. I need you to hold me, she thinks in despair. She needs to hold him, to see him shiver or to hear him raise his voice or throw something across the room or hide his face in his hands, she needs some reassurance he can still feel anything at all. Because if he cannot, is he even still human?

Because if he cannot, what has their relationship been all the time? What has his patience and gentleness and passion been if he can no longer feel, if the emotions are inaccessible to him? Has their lovemaking ever meant...

“Not today,” Thaos says, picking up just a fragment of her thoughts. Usually, he would read her mind – or soul, she is still unsure which – or maybe both – without difficulty; maybe he cannot focus? “I need rest.” He walks over to her and briefly touches her chin, tilting her face up. “I’ll eat and go to sleep. Just as you wanted, my little soulmistress. Or should I call you my healer?” His voice is normal now, with that lighter note it has whenever he is jesting. “See what an obedient patient I am?” But his brief smile does not reach his eyes; more than that, it looks as if it has barely reached his lips either. “You can sleep in my bed tonight to see for yourself.”

They eat in silence. Deòiridh watches Thaos openly, knowing he would be aware of her scrutiny even if she tried being discreet. It seems he is back to his usual self, just still fatigued.

When they get into bed, he sighs, half-asleep already the very moment his head touches the pillow. That makes her wary; it usually takes him some time to fall asleep. Often a lot of time, though less whenever they make love, and sometimes even just when she is near.

Thaos gives her a brief kiss – just a quick brush of lips – then turns away, closing his eyes. Deòiridh hesitantly puts her arm around him. He does not lean into her, but does not move away, either, and lets her hold him. Unlike his mind and demeanour, his body is warm.

The chamber is cold, though, and Deòiridh clings to him, embracing him more tightly. She can sense he is not asleep yet, but he says nothing, so she keeps silent, too.

He has not called her, has not really touched her, did not even want to draw from the fire of her soul. And yet, for some reason, he let her stay.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers tentatively.

His muscles tense under her fingers, as if Thaos was about to turn towards her; he probably thinks she is speaking of what happened in Ossionus, and opens her mouth to explain... A quiet sigh, an exhale, and the tension leaves his body as quickly as it coiled.

“You pity me,” Thaos says slowly, bewildered.

“She was your apprentice.” Deòiridh strokes his hand in an even, soothing rhythm. “You had hopes and expectations...”

“You think I regret what happened?”

“I don’t know.” She hides her face in his hair, softly presses her lips to the nape of his neck. “I think most people would be in mourning.” And I want to believe there is enough left in you to enable you to feel, she adds, but keep that thought to herself.

Most people would not sacrifice... No, Iovara was not his real daughter, just a favoured apprentice. But they used to be close. Maybe that is why he treated her so harshly, why he was so merciless... That finally makes Deòiridh fully comprehend how important his mission is to him. For the first time, it also dawns on her how very little she means. But it does not matter now.

When she kisses his shoulder, she can feel salt on her lips. His skin tastes like tears.

Thaos touches her palm. “No one has thought of it the way you do.” Himself included, perhaps, but she would rather not know that.

Her fingers tighten on his hand. “Because no one sees you like I do,” she whispers back.

He turns towards her, saying nothing, just looks into her eyes. Deòiridh bears his stare calmly and lets him read her soul; she wants him to know she means every word.

Thaos leans in and kisses her gently, as if he was trying to thank her. Then he puts an arm around her, palm splayed flat on her back, and pulls her to his chest. His next kisses make her soften and melt, until there is nothing left but heat and light. That is when she understands that Thaos is seeking oblivion in her; he always does, always has. And if he still returns to her, maybe it means she is the only person who can grant him that.

It is not the same as love... But love is just a different kind of hunger and thirst. And perhaps of sickness.


End file.
